


one more night

by jhoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Endverse!Cas, M/M, Rimming, prostitute!Dean, team switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Dean has a simple rule: he doesn’t fuck for free. Even the guy he’s in love with. But when Cas starts coming up with enough cash to pay him, Dean can’t find it in him to say no.





	one more night

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys :) if you're with me on tumblr, you're probably at least a little aware of this story lol. it started as an emoji ficlet that i filled a while ago and got requests to continue. now that it's all done, i'm moving it over to ao3 in its final and complete form :) 
> 
> please keep in mind, this was originally posted in installments on tumblr and hasn't been beta read. i copied and pasted all of the installments together here, putting a break between each part. if there are continuity, grammar, or spelling errors, those are all on me (and hopefully they're not too egregious). 
> 
> feel free to come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/) to talk about destiel

It starts with a simple question: “Could we—?”

“Not gonna happen,” Dean growls, pulling up the collar of his jacket and walking away. How many times has he gotta tell the guy no?

“I can pay.”

That stops Dean in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. Cas is holding up a handful of cash, completely unaware of how ridiculous he looks doing so.

“Put that away,” Dean hisses. He rushes back over and grabs Cas’ arm, trying to get him to hide the money in his trenchcoat. “You can’t go waving around that kind of cash ‘round here—”

“Dean,” Cas pleads. “Please. I have money this time. I’ll pay.”

Dean looks around. The street’s mostly empty and no eyes appear to be on them, but Dean’s antsy nonetheless.

Cas has always been a weak spot for him. They’ve known each other since school, and Cas was the only one that stuck around when times got rough and Dean had to work the street to get extra money. He’s never  _once_  made Dean feel like he’s  _less_  for what he does, and he’s always appreciated that about Cas.

But there’s been no denying that Cas is… Cas is  _interested_. In more than the friendship they’ve got going. Dean is too, in all honesty, but he didn’t want to bring Cas into this. He still doesn’t

He’s got one rule: no sex for free. He drew that line with Cas a long time ago. He couldn’t let word get out that he plays favorites or lets some people get it for free. It’s bad for business, especially when some regulars like to think they’re something special to Dean. He’s seen this type of thing go south for other people; he can’t afford to let it happen to him.

It’s a good rule, too. For Cas. Because it keeps that one final barrier between them. Helps Dean stop his heart from getting forever lost in pretty blue eyes that still look at him like he hung the moon. It was a perfect rule, actually, because Cas  _neverhas money_. Yet now, here he is with all the cash he needs to buy a night with Dean (or two, based on what Dean saw)… And Dean still can’t let himself take it.

Because what’s Dean supposed to do when Cas runs out of money?

Dean licks his lips as he considers how to let Cas down. Cas tracks the movement, licking his own lips in response and swallowing loudly. His adam’s apple bobs and Dean wonders what Cas’ mouth would look like, stretched wide around his cock.

Fuck. He’s going to do this, isn’t he?

~~He deserves one night with the man he loves, doesn’t he?~~

“This is a bad idea,” Dean says, but he pulls his arm away and starts walking toward the motel. He doesn’t bother to look back to see if Cas is following. He knows he is.

~ ~ ~

Cas pays for the motel. Books it for the whole night. That’s more telling than anything else, and Dean chews the inside of his cheek as he follows Cas to their room.

Dean’s seen a lot of kinks over the years. There’s the regular stuff that most people are looking for—a quick fuck or a sloppy blowjob—but then there’s the off the menu stuff he charges more for. He knows what all his regulars are into and can usually read a new customer well enough to guess what they’re looking for.

If Cas wants him for the whole night… he wonders what Cas has in mind.

Not that Dean isn’t up for it. For the right price, he’ll do anything. Between helping keep a roof over Sam’s head and trying to take care of himself, Dean’s not in a position to turn down easy money. Fucking Cas? Easiest money he’ll ever make.

He’s curious what Cas’ secret fetishes will be. Over the years, he’s spent a lot of time wondering about it. Every time someone asks him to try something new, he wonders if Cas would be into it. Now he’ll actually get to find out, and he honestly has no clue what Cas will ask for. The cash he flashed on the street and at the counter? It’s more than enough to get carte blanche and do whatever he wants to Dean.

A shiver runs down his spine at the mere thought of being at Cas’ beck and call for a whole night.

If Dean were with anyone else in the world right now, he’d go along just as willingly… but he really wants this night with Cas. He’s never looked forward to a job before, not the actual sex part. Even if Dean doesn’t mind the sex, even enjoys it a lot of the time, he’s really in it for the money.

Cas fidgets with the lock for a bit before holding the door open for Dean. The room’s standard fare, bland and drab and with a funny smell he can’t quite place, but the bed looks really damn inviting.

The door clicks shut and Dean swallows in anticipation.

“How you want me Cas?” He doesn’t even bother making his voice low and sultry like he would for other clients. Putting on an act would make this less real, and he desperately needs to believe it’s real.

There’s a flash of a shy smile as Cas steps forward into Dean’s space. “I want you exactly as you are, Dean Winchester.”

Turns out Cas’ only fetish is Dean.

Cas takes off Dean’s clothes bit by bit. He kisses every inch of skin he bares, caresses and worships and makes Dean feel both utterly unworthy and completely loved at the same time.

Once Dean’s naked, he gently lays Dean on the bed. His own clothes he discards without a second thought, eyes never leaving Dean’s. Dean’s never felt so exposed in his life; when Dean’s working, people only see the pretty body they’ve rented for an hour, but with Cas it feels like he’s looking right into Dean’s soul.

If Dean thought Cas would pick up speed once they were on the bed, he was wrong. Cas takes his time to lap at Dean’s hole, to finger him open gently while sucking eagerly on Dean’s cock. The pace is glacial and all the more intense because of it.

Dean feels like  _he_  should be the one paying Cas for this kind of treatment.

The sex itself is kind of boring. So vanilla that Dean  _knows_  he’s overcharging Cas. Cas fucks into him slowly, so slowly Dean doesn’t think either of them will be able to come like this, but little by little they edge towards ecstasy. Cas lays claim to Dean’s mouth over and over, his hands wandering as they seek to touch and memorize. Dean can’t move, can barely breathe it’s so intense.

Their foreheads pressed together, they keep fucking.

It’s the most intimate sex Dean’s ever had. Probably the most intimate he’ll  _ever_  have.

They don’t say anything, which is probably for the best. Dean thinks he’d fall apart if Cas started whispering endearments to him. If he started making promises he couldn’t  _possibly_  keep.

His orgasm creeps up on him. It doesn’t shoot through him like it usually does. It’s a gentle cascade that flows from the tips of his toes all the way up to his flushed cheeks. His breath hitches before he spills all over himself, but otherwise he’s silent. Cas kisses him through it, increases the speed of his thrusts just a smidge and then he comes with a silent cry.

Dean wants to cry when Cas collapses on him. It’s over. Their one night together, and it’s done. He’ll never have Cas again, never get the chance to experience actual happiness with the man he loves—

Every other client that’s ever fucked Dean, they clean themselves up, toss some cash his way, and leave. Maybe there’ll be promises of next time, but they don’t linger.

Cas, though? He wordlessly cleans up and wraps them both in the scratchy motel blanket. He presses in close behind Dean, a hand splayed over Dean’s heart as he nuzzles and nips at the back of his neck. And then, as if this is exactly what he’d paid for, Cas falls asleep.

Dean was right, he shouldn’t have said yes to Cas. Because now Dean is vividly aware of what he’s missing in his life, and what he’ll never get to have.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, Dean knows he should get out of bed. He’s got his bartending job to get to, he can’t lie around in bed all day no matter how comfortable it is with Cas lying next to him.

But the second he knows Cas is awake, Dean jerks away and rushes to the bathroom. It’s one thing for him to indulge in something he can’t have, it’s another entirely to let Cas get his hopes up.

“How much do I owe you?” Cas asks timidly when Dean comes out of the bathroom. Like he’s worried he doesn’t have enough. Dean saw that wad of Cas, he knows exactly how much Cas has just like he knows exactly how cheap the evening should’ve been.

Dean overcharges Cas on purpose.

If he sets the bar way too high, Cas won’t ever be able to buy another night. Even if Dean desperately wants  ~~an endless string of night after night~~  another night, it’s not a good idea. They got their one, impossible moment, and it doesn’t do either of them any good making it seem like they could have it again.

There’s an awkward moment when they check out where it looks like Cas wants to lean in and kiss him, but Dean turns away before it can happen.

“Let’s not pretend this was anything other than it was.” His voice is rougher than usual, but he forces the words out anyway. “We ain’t dating or anything.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. I… wasn’t aware of the protocol—”

“Now you are. Let’s go.”

Cas walks him to the bus stop and then they part ways. It’s a lot harder than it should be, but hey, that’s life.

As the bus drives away, Dean doesn’t look back. He’s pretty sure Cas watches him go.

\- - - -

Dean’s ruined for other clients. Before, he could pretend it was Cas fucking him. Now… well, now he  _knows_  Cas is gentle and tender and treats the whole thing with reverence, from undressing to holding each other after. As soon as another client gets even a smidge too rough, the illusion’s broken, and Dean remembers it’s not Cas.

He can’t even pretend.

\- - - -

Dean doesn’t see much of Cas the next week, which is a little unusual. Cas likes to keep him company at the Roadhouse or on whatever random street corner Dean’s haunting. Admittedly the latter’s bad for business, but Dean misses seeing him around the restaurant. If there’s one thing Cas is good for, it’s entertaining Dean through the slow hours before Happy Hour.

But Cas has disappeared on him before. Problem with having a junkie for a friend, Cas’ll go on binges and basically not exist for weeks at a time until Dean takes a day off to track him down and get him cleaned up.

He  _really_  hopes that’s not what’s going on. There are only so many times Dean can watch Cas destroy himself before he stops looking altogether. Easier not to  _see_  the man he loves die awful.

~~Who’s he kidding, he’ll always keep going after Cas.~~

He’s got it in his head that Cas is stoned out of his mind in some dealer’s apartment that he practically trips over his own feet when he sees Cas walking up to him on some street corner at two am.

“Jesus, Cas! I was fucking worried about you!” he gripes, because being upset is easier than being relieved Cas is okay. “Don’t  _do_  that—”

“I have money.”

Dean licks his lips. “Huh?”

Cas holds out another wad of cash. Again, terrible idea given the shit neighborhood they’re in, but Dean’s too curious to scold him. Instead he grabs the cash and thumbs through it.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. Same amount Cas paid him last time. What the actual fuck? He’d charged Cas so damn much. It was a miracle Cas got the money the first time around, it should have been  _impossible_  to do it a second time.

Plus why would he want to waste all this money on Dean? Hasn’t Cas figured out he can do better than a whore?

Yes, Dean knows Cas better than that. He knows Cas is just as stupidly in love with Dean as he is with Cas, but Dean doesn’t  _get_  it. Even at his worst, Cas is awesome. Dean’s well past his worst; there can’t possibly be anything redeeming about him, not anymore.

Someday the guy’ll wise up, right?

And break Dean’s heart in the process.

“What you robbing banks or something?” Dean jokes as he counts the cash again. “Sell a kidney?”

Cas tenses and Dean regrets saying it. It’s none of his business and he doesn’t want to upset Cas. Especially not if Dean’s about to make a ton of money on their shared weakness of loving each other.

“I’m kidding,” Dean says with an easy smile he saves for skittish clients. “Same place as before?”

“Yes.” Cas’ relief is palpable and Dean wonders what the fuck Cas did to get this money.

Later, he’ll ask about it. Right now…

One time was good. Two times has got to be better, right?

_Bad idea bad idea **such**  a bad idea… Bad idea the first time around, million times worse to do it again—_

He ignores that nagging voice. He deserves this one good thing.

Even if he’ll be paying for it later.

He takes Cas’ hand in his and leads him to the motel. The receptionist barely even glances their way as she gives them a room key.

“You want me on my back or my front?” Dean asks when they’re in the room. “I’m already prepped tonight—”

“On your back. I was hoping to uh… I was thinking this time I’d like to—to ride you?”

Dean freezes, his jacket half off. His dick’s been half hard since Cas handed him the money, but now it perks up with real interest.

“Yeah, I think we can make that work…”

It’s weird; most guys don’t ask him to top. But it’s normal, having Cas slip onto his dick and start bouncing up and down. Now at least Dean can fall into the role of prostitute and not think stray thoughts about love and—

Then Cas leans down, cradles Dean’s cheek and kisses him long and slowly. He keeps moving his hips but it’s intimate again. It’s that type of sex that’s not sex anymore. It’s dangerously close to something else entirely, something Dean’s too afraid to put a name on.

“Cas!” he gasps as he comes. “Cas… I—I—”

At least he has enough sense to not finish that sentence.

“So good,” Cas whispers between kisses to Dean’s neck. “Mmmm, so good.”

Dean falls asleep before Cas has finished cleaning them up. If Dean died right then, he’d die happy.

The world isn’t that merciful, though, and he wakes up the next morning to Cas showering and a very real worry about what the day will bring.

How the fuck is he supposed to get over Cas?

~ ~ ~

Dean doesn’t start to get suspicious about the money until the third week.

Cas invites Dean to his apartment instead of meeting him at Dean’s usual street corner. It’s late enough that Dean doesn’t expect Cas to show up, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket. He always answers for Cas, just in case it’s something bad and the guy needs help, but the words are out almost before he has the phone to his ear.

“Come over.”

Dean wants to decline—“Cas, you know it’s Friday and I  _work_  Fridays.”—but Cas immediately makes it clear that this isn’t merely to hang out.

“I’ll pay,” he says on the phone, urgent but not quite as desperate as when he first propositioned Dean. Probably because he knows Dean won’t turn him down; he’s got two successful liaisons under his belt, he must feel like a pro.

Dean licks his lips to buy some time so he can think. “The whole night? ‘Cuz you live clear across town—”

“The whole night,” Cas says. A pause. “Same price?”

“Yeah.” Dean feels somehow deflated by that. “Yeah, same price.”

It just makes Dean feel more like a whore, more used up and expendable if even Cas is treating him like everyone else.

_That’s not fair. Cas is way gentler than the others. It’s like he’s incapable of fucking without showing me he cares._

Dean shivers despite the warmth radiating from the streetlight above him, then scolds himself. He should  _not_ be looking forward to this. This is business. Cas is paying.

So what if they both enjoy it?

The door isn’t locked when Dean gets there, but it never is. Cas is forgetful, loses his keys too often to think them worth the effort. Doesn’t matter, since Cas has nothing worth stealing.

_Except apparently he’s got money now…_

Dean locks the door behind him, because even if Cas isn’t one for privacy and security, Dean is. This isn’t a shitty neighborhood, but it’s not the greatest.

“Cas?” he calls and is immediately hit with how awkward the situation is. He’s been here a million times. This is his best friend’s home, he’s here all the time as Dean.

Now he’s here as a prostitute, and everything feels off.

Does he take off his jacket and shoes? Does he wait for Cas to take him into the bedroom and give him instructions? Should he ask for the money first?

The motel was so much easier.

“Living room,” Cas calls back.

Since at the end of the day, this is still his best friend’s apartment, Dean toes off his boots and ditches his jacket in the closet.

He finds Cas upside down on his sofa, giggling softly at nothing and his eyes red and puffy.

Dean stops short. Cas is high. Really fucking high.

Cas is usually high, so this shouldn’t be a big deal, but somehow it feels like a huge deal. Part of him maybe thought Cas was cutting back on the drugs to afford… well,  _him_ , but that’s clearly not the case. There are pills everywhere, the place stinks of resh weed, and Cas looks like he’s mid-bender.

So if Cas didn’t give up drugs for Dean he stubbornly doesn’t let this fact crush his soul, then what the fuck  _is_ Cas doing to get all that cash?

“Money?” Dean asks a little too sharply. Cas doesn’t even flinch, just points to a cigar box on the edge of the coffee table. Aside from some commemorative coins, bent and pressed pennies from local museums, and a single cigar, there’s a whole bunch of cash. More than he’d need for tonight.

“This is a lot of money.” His voice is strained as he counts out his share. The bills are neatly pressed, making Dean even more suspicious; Cas doesn’t bother with a wallet, so his money’s usually crumpled and bent six ways to hell. This is straight from the bank nice.

Does Cas even  _have_  a bank account?

Cas shrugs, smiling up at Dean and making grabby hands. “Come closer.”

“Where you getting it?” Dean asks as he slams the cigar box shut and drops it on the table loudly.

“Got a job, that’s all.”

He loves Cas, he really does. More than he should, more than’s good for either of them. But even so,  _he_  wouldn’t give Cas a job doing… well,  _anything_. Cas is unreliable. Cas comes and goes as he pleases, shows up late or not at all, or comes too early and won’t leave. Cas sucks at routines and can’t be bothered to remember damn near anything, especially not the day of the week.

The only job he’s ever worked is at the Gas n Sip. The fact that Cas has  _ever_  worked a job is still impressive to Dean, as pathetic as that is. How the fuck did he convince someone else to hire him? Someone that would pay him this kind of dough?

_Three weeks in a row he’s hired you. Guess there’s at least **one**  routine he has…_

“A job?” Dean repeats. “What job?”

Cas frowns, pushing up from the sofa and looking far too grumpy. “We going to talk or are you going to let me fuck you?” he grouses.

If this were any other situation, Dean would find his appearance adorably rumpled. Right now, it just pisses him off.

Dean holds up the money before stuffing it in his back pocket. “You paid, didn’t you?”

Even though he’s angry and nearly shouting, Cas seems to relax. “I did,” he agrees. “Bedroom?”

“Lead the way.”

He’s so upset, Dean doesn’t think he’ll be able to get hard, but of course he’s wrong. This is still Cas, and he’s still happy beyond belief that they’re doing this. With Cas’ mouth trailing down him, it’s easy to forget that he’s worried as hell about Cas, that he’s angry at him. For a few hours, that doesn’t matter. It’s just the two of them, for at least one more night.

~ ~ ~

A month later and this thing they’re doing, it’s a weekly occurrence. Dean doesn’t even bother making plans to work Fridays because that’s Cas’ night, booked in advance until whenever Cas runs out of cash.

Dean’s so comfortable in the arrangement, he dreads that day.

But the money keeps coming, Cas continues to be vague about it, and Dean quietly worries. He asks around. Of course he does, this is  _Cas._ They look out for each other, even if they maybe don’t do a great job of it. But no one knows anything, or they keep quiet if they do, and Dean grows more disquieted.

He would never admit it, but he saves all the money Cas pays him, just in case Cas needs it back. He’s got a bad feeling that whatever Cas had gotten himself into, it’s going to blow up in his face.

~ ~ ~

On Friday morning, Dean gets a text from Cas.

Not all that weird—Cas usually drops a line to let him know if they should meet at his place or a motel—but Dean rereads the message five times before he understands what he’s seeing.

Cas: dinner at that Italian place with the fancy wines?

Sounds like a bad idea. Yeah, it could just be two friends getting food (they used to do it all the time), but on  _Friday_? What’s Cas playing at?

In the end, Dean’s curiosity wins out.

**Dean: sure when?**

_Cas: 7?_

Normally he’d joke and ask if Cas is buying (hint: he never does), but this is dangerous ground. He’d prefer not to talk about money.

**Dean: k need a ride??**

_Cas: no_

Well then. Guess he’ll find out what this is all about at seven.

~ ~ ~

The restaurant, the “Italian place with the fancy wines” as Cas called it, isn’t a  _nice_ restaurant, but it’s halfway decent. A half step up from a chain and leaps and bounds above the fast food Cas usually goes for, Dean feels on edge as soon as he arrives.

_Not a date not a date not a date you don’t date **whores**  not a date,_ he repeats mechanically to himself as a stern reminder. Then he catches sight of Cas in a button down shirt and almost ruly hair, and he wonders if Cas got the memo about not taking sex workers out on dates.

Probably not.

Dean’s heart is in his throat when he sits down, and he scowls at the menu to avoid making eye contact with Cas. Why do things always have to be so damn difficult with Cas, huh?

As if Dean would have him any other way.

“So what’s the occasion?” Dean asks when Cas orders a bottle of wine. A cheap bottle, but still. He’s throwing money around like it grows on trees, like he’s not at all scared of it drying up. Even when Dean’s got a little extra cash on him, he’s so freaked out about the possibility of  _not_  having money for himself, for Sam, that he hordes it. In his line of work especially, clients can be fickle and there’s no guarantees even his regulars will stay interested.

Well, except Cas.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Cas fidgets in his seat, and Dean wonders what the hell this is about. His instinct says it can’t be anything good—not making eye contact, public place, wine to soften the blow—but he doesn’t think Cas has it in him to be that devious. Cas is Cas. The guy doesn’t have a manipulative bone is his body.  

“I’m listening,” Dean prompts when Cas doesn’t say anything else.

The server comes back with their wine. Opens the bottle, pours it awkwardly as though he can feel the tension and wants nothing to do with it. Only once he’s gone does Cas take a deep breath and start speaking.

“I’d like you to move in with me. I’d pay you,” he adds quickly. “For sex. Whenever. We could— we could work out a weekly rate? Or do it daily, I’m not sure how this works—” Cas cuts himself off and shakes his head, cheeks flushing like he knows how ridiculous this is.

How ridiculous it is to ask his best friend to move in with him and be his live in whore.

Dean thumbs the rim of his wine glass, then takes a long drink to buy himself some time to think. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Cas.” His dick and his heart disagree, but he’s gotta keep his head on straight about this one.

Cas looks sad, like a kicked puppy. Shoulders slumped, he stares morosely down at the table. “Why not?” he says so quietly Dean has to lean forward to hear him. “Do you not… do you not  _like_  being with me? Am I not… good enough…?”

“You’re the best,” Dean says sincerely. He reaches his hand across the table to squeeze Cas’ shoulder, holding it there until Cas actually looks up. “Seriously, you’re the best. Don’t ever think you’re not good enough for  _anything_.”

The last thing he needs is for Cas to take this a little too much to heart; something like this, it could lead to a bender and another call from the hospital about an OD. Dean will  _not_  let that happen again. It’d been terrifying enough the first time, and that was when it hadn’t even been his damn fault. The thought of being the cause of Cas hurting himself…

“Then why not?” Cas presses, voice desperate. “I’ll take care of you. I  _want_  to take care of you. You’re—” He chokes on the words, then visibly forces them out. “You’re my best friend, Dean.  _Please_.”

“I don’t need taking care of,” Dean huffs.

_But you might_.

He quickly reassesses the situation. He tries to look at it objectively, not just his own perspective of not wanting to get his heart ripped out when things go bad, but the actual pros and cons of this proposal.

If he lives with Cas, he can look out for him. He can make sure Cas doesn’t do too many drugs  _and_  doesn’t get into any trouble with this mysterious ‘job’ that he has. He won’t have to go all week without seeing Cas, worrying when there are days without any word from him at all.

_Getting to fuck Cas all the time._

“You only got one bed,” Dean points out. He knows what this means, of course he does, but part of him isn’t sure Cas does.

Cas doesn’t flinch, but his eyes dart away for a split second. “I can take the couch if you’d prefer—”

“It’s fine.” Dean says dismissively. It’s not, for so many reasons, but he’ll deal. “So how exactly does this arrangement work. Hypothetically.” He points his finger in warning at Cas. “I haven’t accepted.”

Cas explains, and it’s exactly what Dean suspected: he’ll live with Cas, Cas’ll pay him weekly to be his fuck toy, plus paying for the apartment and all that. It’s a good deal all around, he thinks, except that there’s no way it can be sustainable. It’ll just lull them into a false sense of security, make them think they  _can_  be together, and then when the money dries up, they’ll be left heartbroken.

Or worse: Dean won’t be able to say no to Cas anymore, even without being paid, and they’ll  _both_  go hungry.

“Would it bother you if I keep working?” Dean needs that little bit of independence, that extra cash for the eventuality when Cas can’t pay anymore.

A way out, if he needs it.

Cas frowns, understanding that Dean’s not referring to the Roadhouse. “If you want to, no I don’t mind. But I thought I was already paying you enough that you wouldn’t have to. I’d pay more for this, obviously. I know it’s a huge… a huge request.”

So Cas knows, that Dean’s overcharging him and still pays it anyway. Dean’s both relieved that it’s out in the open and embarrassed that he’s been caught. He feels he owes Cas an explanation, but he knows he doesn’t have a good one so he doesn’t bother.

“We could uh… we could renegotiate the price,” Dean says sheepishly. He didn’t feel bad about the steep price the first time, hoping it would be a good enough deterrent to stop them from… well, from being right where they are now. He definitely didn’t feel bad when he went to Cas’ apartment and he saw how  _easily_  Cas could afford it, but continually ripping off Cas for the foreseeable future, it doesn’t sit well with him.

_The money’s better off with you than with him. He’ll just blow it on drugs. If **you**  had it, you could—_

He shuts down that line of thought. Cas isn’t a child. It’s bad enough Dean’s already saving up for when Cas fucks things up, it’d be worse to take  _everything_.

They talk numbers for a bit, though Cas seems disinterested. Dean really could take it all if he wanted to, and that kind of scares him. He knows Cas is used to living off nothing, that money’s basically meaningless to him, some sort of inconvenience society imposes on him from time to time, but this is ridiculous. Still, Dean does his best to make things fair. He treats Cas like every other client, and they wor

Then they drink to celebrate, like this is a Good Thing and not a Dangerous Thing. They’re quiet all through dinner, as though Cas expects at any moment for Dean to change his mind. There are about a dozen times he  _does_  change his mind, but the words never make it past his lips. When it comes down to it, there’s no denying the  _real_  reason Dean agrees.

He  _wants_  to live with Cas and buy into the fantasy. Pretend for a little bit that they can be together, that they can have this.

He only dreads when reality will tear them apart.

~ ~ ~

Cas’ place has slowly improved. Still the same shitty furniture, but less trash and actual food in the pantry instead of take out in the fridge. Some of that’s Dean. He’s there often enough and he usually tidies up a bit on his way out.

_Guess it’ll be getting even better now…_

Cas has already cleared out a few drawers for Dean’s clothes. Dean didn’t bring a whole lot with him because he doesn’t  _have_  a whole lot. He’s almost embarrassed he can’t fill up more than two drawers. Not that he thinks Cas will judge him for it, but still.

It only takes one night for the last of Dean’s misgivings about the situation to disappear. It’s hard to be upset when he wakes up with his dick in Cas’ mouth, his hands clutching at the sheets as Cas starts to finger him.

If this is what living with Cas meant, yeah, he could get used to it.

The beginning of each week, Cas dutifully pays Dean. They sleep in the same bed each night, almost always after sex because Cas seems intent to get his money’s worth, which is almost hilarious to Dean. Dean’s more than happy to oblige, and occasionally even initiates it. Showing affection to Cas is safe now that there’s a frequent stream of money involved; no one can accuse Dean of favoritism if it’s all business.

Business.

Dean hates that fucking word. He’s grudgingly accepted that business and prostitution go hand in hand for him, but what the hell is  _Cas’_  business? Where the fuck is this money coming from?

They don’t see each other much during the day. Between work and school and whatever the fuck else Cas does when he’s not getting high at home, their schedules only overlap in the mornings for breakfast and in the evenings to fuck. True, they don’t  _always_  fuck. Sometimes they fall asleep on the couch watching a movie or go out for dinner.

Dean would prefer it if they  _did_  just fuck. Then maybe it wouldn’t feel like they’re dating.

The real issue is, nearly two weeks into their “arrangement” and Dean’s no closer to figuring out what Cas’ mysterious “job” is than he was before.

He initially thought Cas was dealing. There are  _so many_  drugs lying around, but living with Cas makes it painfully obvious that Cas  _uses_  them. Often. He’s stingy with them too. He offers them freely to Dean but looks annoyed when Dean asks to take some pot for his friends. Dean figures if Cas  _were_  dealing, it’d come up. That Cas would offer to sell some to dean’s friends, bring them in as clients, and maybe even give them a friends and family discount.

Cas doesn’t offer.

_Maybe he thinks I wouldn’t approve if I knew he was dealing._

_I wouldn’t… but it’s not like I can take the moral high ground here. Everyone’s got their own demons to face, right?_

He  _does_ wish Cas would stop or at least scale down a bit. He’d had his suspicions about the severity of Cas’ addiction, but now he’s faced with daily reminders of it. Dean kinda hates himself for not calling Cas out on it, but it was an unspoken agreement between the two of them: Cas doesn’t judge Dean for the whoring, Dean doesn’t judge Cas for the drugs.

Anyway, the point remains. Cas probably isn’t dealing. Come to think of it, Cas would make a shit dealer. Too much sampling the merchandise or whatever. He’d consume more product than he’d sell, and no one would want to invest in that kind of dealer, nope.

There are moments when Dean tries to bring up Cas’ job. He  _wants_  to push Cas for more info. What if Cas is doing something he really shouldn’t? What if he’s getting in over his head—?

But every time, Dean remembers how shitty it had felt when everyone started judging him for being a sex worker. How many people had tried to talk him out of it, and then distanced themselves from him when he wouldn’t,  _couldn’t_  stop. Cas had stuck around. Cas hadn’t belittled him for how he got his money.

Maybe he owed Cas the same autonomy…?

A niggling, dark thought crowded the back of his mind: maybe he didn’t  _want_ to question it because he liked it too much. His own greed, his own desire to benefit from Cas’ mysterious job and share Cas’ bed, those were keeping him from seeing this clearly.

He wavers back and forth so much that he does two stupid things.

The first is, he talks to Benny. The second is, he talks to Sam.

Talking to Benny is stupid because Benny’s just going to tell him what he wants to hear.

“Cas is a big boy,” Benny points out. “He can handle himself. He thinks he’s got things figured out, you’re gonna insult him by meddling. So long as he seems fine, let it be. Be there for ‘im if he asks, but don’t stick your nose where it ain’t wanted.”

Talking to Sam is stupid because Sam’s just going to tell him what he does  **not**  want to hear.

“Of  _course_  you should bring it up!” Sam’s eyes are wide with worry. “He’s your best friend. It’s  _Cas_! If there’s even a  _chance_  he’s in trouble, how can you ignore that?”

So really, they cancel each other out and he’s back to square one.

_I’ll keep dropping hints that Cas can talk to me,_  he resolves.  _I’ll keep an eye out, make sure he’s okay._

_Fuck, I hope he’s okay…_

~ ~ ~

Dean doesn’t tell Cas, but he stops taking other clients.

He probably shouldn’t do that, but the longer he lives with Cas, the more the lines are blurred between business and relationship. In a lot of ways it seems like they’re dating, and if they’re dating, it feels strange to sleep with other people. Yes, Cas knows that Dean’s a whore and has made it clear he doesn’t care if Dean continues to be one, but Dean doesn’t like it.

Why warm someone else’s bed when he can have  _Cas_?

It’s not like he needs the money anyway. He never  _planned_  to become a prostitute, but when he was young and desperate, his body was all he had to offer. He’s used to it, and yet he likes that he doesn’t  _have_  to. He has the  _choice_  of who he sleeps with, so long as he sticks with Cas. That’s a luxury he never thought he’d have.

The money bothers him though. It’s a mystery he aches to solve. He’d feel so much better if he could just find out that Cas inherited a ton of cash from some rich, dead uncle or that he’d made bank in the stock market. But Cas doesn’t talk about his “new job” and Dean worries.

Especially when he starts to notice things. Things that don’t quite add up, but that for the life of them he can’t puzzle out their true meaning.

There’s the suit. Cas has a fucking suit in his closet. A damned nice one, too. Good material and actually  _tailored_  for fuck’s sake. It smells new, or new ish. It’s still in the bag, probably never been worn, but it doesn’t have the stink of weed or the general musk of Cas’ apartment. Not yet, anyway.

What the hell would Cas need such a nice suit for? And why isn’t he even using it?

That’s the most benign thing. Everything else is so much worse.

There are the strange men who sometimes show up at Cas’ apartment looking for him. They’re big and muscular. Some of them wear suits like the one Dean found, others don’t. The only thing they had in common is air of authority and menace they carry with them. They aren’t aggressive, thank fuck, or Dean would think they were there to kick Cas’ ass. Doesn’t mean it’s not unsettling to see Cas associating with guys like that.

Whenever Dean mentions these visits to Cas, Cas will roll his eyes and brush it off. Apparently  _he_  isn’t concerned, so Dean figures  _he_  shouldn’t be either.

~~He is of fucking course he is.~~

And worst of all are the things he notices about Cas himself.

The fact that Cas is slowly putting on more muscle doesn’t bother him. He likes it, especially when Cas uses that muscle to hold Dean down and have his way with him. It’s sexy as hell, and Dean’s very pleased that Cas has an aversion to shirts when he’s at home.

At first Dean figures it’s because of Dean’s presence that the muscle’s being added on. Dean cooks and makes sure Cas eats. Cas was always prone to skipping meals or just plain old not eating enough, but Dean’s relentless in making sure that’s not the case anymore. There are times all Cas wants to do when he gets home is crawl onto Dean’s lap and make out with him, and Dean will have to practically force feed him a meal before he’ll indulge  ~~his boyfriend~~   ~~his lover~~  Cas.

Then there are the bruises. The sore muscles that are too tender for Dean to touch. The bloody knuckles…

The only idea that pops into his head is a crazy one. Maybe Cas is doing some sort of illegal fighting ring to make money. He dismisses the thought almost as soon as he has it. Cas isn’t a fighter. He’s fundamentally against it. The dude hates violence. Besides, the increase in muscle is constant, but the injuries aren’t. They’re sporadic, enough that it could be… hell, it could be a bar fight or clumsiness or a weird skin condition or a million other things.

Suit. Strange men. Muscles. Injuries.

Dammit Cas, what have you done?

~ ~ ~

As Dean frets about Cas’ job, Cas starts buying Dean gifts.

Clothes. Parts for his car. Books for Sam. Jewelry. Pie. Anything he thinks Dean might like, he buys and leaves on the kitchen table for Dean without a word. He’s clearly trying to not make a big deal of it, and Dean tries to play along, but it  _is_  a big deal.

Some regulars get him gifts, but they’re so generic that he usually just sells them. Cas’ gifts are for  _him_ , for  _Dean_. No one else would want or appreciate them the way he would, and no one but Cas would know him well enough to pick them out.

It reminds Dean more and more that maybe this isn’t exactly a business deal. If he’s going to be honest and call it what it is, they’re dating. They care about each other a little too much and Dean’s losing interest in the money more and more…

This is exactly where he never wanted to be with Cas, trapped by their feelings for each other into making stupid decisions that would only ever drag each other down.

But like an idiot, Dean doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t even do the honorable thing and tell Cas that he cares. He should’ve expected  _that_  to blow up in his face.

They’re having sex, Cas fucking Dean against a wall. Dean’s been so wound up—another of Cas’ “friends” visited earlier and Cas came home later than usual—that he gets caught up in it. In the heat of the moment, Dean gasps out a strangled, “I love you.”

He’s never said those words out loud to anyone save his dead mother and his younger brother, but they slip out before he can stop them.

And Cas? Cas doesn’t notice. Doesn’t care. Just fucks Dean until they’ve both come.

After, Cas doesn’t hold him like he usually does. He immediately gets dressed. Dean misses the contact. He’s confused, a little shell shocked that Cas could care so little.   

“Cas…?” he croaks, his voice weak.

“Don’t say things like that,” Cas scolds him. He doesn’t have to explain what he means. “I’m not paying you to lie to me.”

Dean stands there gaping at Cas. Does Cas really not know? After all these years…?

Everything inside him burns to correct Cas and yell that it isn’t a lie, but the words die in his throat. Maybe… maybe it’s for the best that Cas doesn’t know? Maybe it’ll hurt Cas less when things inevitably fall apart?

Dean keeps quiet and watches Cas crawl into bed and almost immediately pass out. Dean follows him, wraps around the outside of the blankets and kisses Cas’ hair.

He won’t make the mistake of saying it again… but how could Cas  _not_  know?

~ ~ ~

Dean avoids the apartment for a bit after that. Whether from guilt or anger or hurt or some combination thereof, he’s not quite sure. He briefly considers turning some tricks for cash, but deep down he knows it would have nothing to do with the money.

It takes Dean two days to get over himself and go back. He tells himself it’s because Cas is still paying him, is paid up through the end of the week. It’s not even a comforting lie.

All these years, he thought Cas knew how he felt. It bothers him deeply that Cas might  _not_  know. It makes all of Dean’s decisions and the way he’s treated Cas seem so much  _worse_  when they’re not seen as a desperate way of protecting his own heart from breaking. What Cas must think of him…

Does Cas really think he’s just a whore? That Cas is client and Dean’s his nightly commission—

He forces the thoughts away. It doesn’t matter what Cas thinks, because Dean can  _fix_  it. This one little thing in their shitty lives deserves to be set right.

“Hey Cas?” Dean calls when he pokes his head back into the apartment. He’s not sure he’s welcome, though he can’t imagine he’s not. “I’m home— I’m back.”

There’s no answer. Dean kicks off his boots and looks around (things don’t look  _that_  much worse for wear, thank god, but it’s only been two days…).

He finds Cas passed out on the bed, looking dead if not for the steady rise of his chest.

“Cas?” he asks as he cautiously runs his hands through Cas’ hair.

Cas’ eyes fly open and he stares up at Dean with a wild look. For a second, Dean isn’t sure Cas even recognizes and he tenses with worry. Then Cas has him in his arms as he drags him to the bed. Rolls on top of him and kisses him with such  _feeling_.

It’s rougher than usual. Cas isn’t gentle as he first fucks Dean and then rides him, as though unsure which he prefers. In the frenzy, Dean wonders if he’s finally done it, if he’s drive Cas to treat him like all the other johns who hire him.

Once they’ve both come and Cas has calmed down, Dean’s fears evaporate. Cas’ lips are all over him, kissing the new bruises as he holds Dean close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to be so possessive. I missed you. It won’t happen again.”

Dean holds his breath for a second, then wiggles around so he can face Cas. “You’re allowed to be possessive,” he says cautiously. “I’m yours.”

Cas’ expression darkens. “I know,” he says without inflection. “I know what I’ve paid for.”

“ _No_ ,” Dean says so sharply Cas blinks in surprise. “No, that’s not…  _Cas_ ,” he whines. He can’t stand to look at him right now, so he buries his face in Cas’ neck and whispers the rest. “I love you. Not because of the money or the sex. Not gonna lie, those are nice, but those are  _perks_. I love  _you_. Even if you smoke too much. Even if you won’t tell me about your stupid job. Even if none of your clothes match, like,  _at all_. I think that’s actually kind of adorable.”

He’s never called Cas adorable out loud before, at least not without making it sound like a joke, and Dean’s cheeks heat up. Why couldn’t this be easier?

“The point is, I’m yours. With or without the money. My heart, my love… they’re yours. I didn’t think I needed to tell you, but it was killing me thinking you didn’t know.”

Cas is very still and very quiet for a long time. If he weren’t so damn tense, Dean might think he were asleep.

“Do you mean it?” Cas finally whispers.

This Dean thinks is important, so he ignores his own embarrassment and moves back just enough so they can look in each other’s eyes. “I mean it. I love you.”

Cas’ frown slowly melts into wonder and then a gummy smile. He’s on Dean again, kissing him senseless.

They don’t sleep much that night, and they don’t talk much either. When Dean wakes up the next morning, even though he’s alone, he feels better than he has in years.

~ ~ ~

They get eight whole days of domestic bliss after that. They’re a couple, in a relationship that each acknowledges. They don’t  _talk_  about it or how this change is huge, colossal, and  _needs_  to be talked about. They simply enjoy it. They enjoy getting to steal kisses whenever they want. They enjoy getting to give gifts and accept them in turn without wondering about ulterior motives. They can go on  _dates_  and  _hold hands_  and simply be.

Dean feels like he can actually breathe. He feels dangerously close to being  _happy_ , which is how he should’ve known it was all going to go to shit.

~ ~ ~

Dean doesn’t work Thursdays. He used to, but with Cas and him living together, he doesn’t need to. It’s a strange luxury,  _choosing_  to take a whole day off for himself. It’s not much, considering most people get the whole weekend and he doesn’t even get that, but it’s more than he’s had in a long time.

Dean  _loves_  Thursdays.

And then one Thursday evening, a Dr. Sexy marathon is interrupted by a loud pounding on the door. Dean mutes the TV and cautiously walks over. The knocking continues, urgent to the point of desperation, and Dean’s starting to get scared. The door shakes on its hinges, but he looks through the peephole to check first. He’s had too many people bust down doors on him that he wants to be ready if this is gonna go bad.

It’s Cas.

… What the hell?

He opens the door and Cas practically falls into the apartment. He’s huddled in his old trenchcoat, his right hand tucked under his left armpit. With the left, he slams the door shut and leans heavily against it for a second before quickly locking it.

When he pulls his hand away, the chain is covered in blood.

“Holy shit,” Dean whispers, arms out to steady Cas in case he falls. “Should I call a doctor—?”

“It’s not mine,” Cas says steadily. Too steadily. Who the hell gets blood all over them and doesn’t freak out? Especially someone  _else’s_  blood. “I’m fine. Don’t— don’t call anyone. Please.”

“Cas, you’re scaring me here.”

“I’m scared, too,” Cas whispers, then rushes to the bathroom. Dean follows behind and gasps when he sees just how much blood the trenchcoat was hiding.

Cas’ clothes are  _drenched_. Most of it’s dry, but parts are still dripping. They make a dull sound as they hit the tile. Immediately, Cas is tearing off his clothes and dumping them in the tub. Then he’s bent over the sink, rinsing his face, his hands, scrubbing his chest and oh god the blood is everywhere…

Cas doesn’t make it halfway through before his hands start trembling. He collapses first to one knee, then the other. Bent over the sink, he’s a mess.

With Cas’ composure fading away, Dean steps in. He shakes his head to dispel his own shock and concerns. Right now is about Cas.

“It’s okay,” Dean whispers as he throws his arms around Cas and drapes himself over his back. “We’ll fix this. We’ll fix it.”

He has no idea how, but he’ll figure something out. For Cas, he’ll do whatever it takes…

It takes some work to get Cas away from the sink. Dean doesn’t even care that watery blood is getting everywhere. He cradles Cas’ face between his hands, uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears, and waits patiently for Cas to look at him.

“Cas,” he says firmly. “Tell me  _everything_.”

Cas looks like he wants to protest and pull away, but Dean isn’t backing down. He allowed Cas his secrets back when those secrets brought money. Now something terrible’s happened, and he  _needs_  to know or he can’t help. Cas must see this, because he licks his lips and closes his eyes.

“Okay.” Cas nods and starts again, more firmly. “Okay.”

~ ~ ~

Cas doesn’t remember much before Dean, which is particularly bad considering they were eight when they first met. It was just that his childhood was so lacking, so terrible in parts, but every moment with Dean was wonderful.

There are snippets here and there, of course. Pieces that even to this day he can still remember. An apartment with faded wallpaper. His father passed out over his typewriter. His mother yelling and slamming a door. Holding a stuffed animal tight to his chest at night. Mostly Cas ignores the memories. None of them are pleasant and are better left in the past.

Dean he remembers clearly. Every smile, every laugh, every joke told and story shared, all of it is embedded in Cas’ memory.

Even before he understood what it meant to love, he loved Dean.

~ ~ ~

As boys they could pretend their lives weren’t so bad. Not perfect, not by a long shot, but acceptable.

As they neared adulthood, the lie became harder to maintain.

Castiel’s not proud of it, but he fell down the same drug filled path as his father. It was easy, the pills were so easy to find around the apartment, so many that his father never noticed any missing. They numbed all the feelings Cas wished he didn’t have at all.

Dean’s family struggled for money, and Cas couldn’t help.

Dean’s father left, and Cas couldn’t help.

Dean turned to any source of work he could find, selling his body and his future prospects at a normal life, and Cas couldn’t help.

Cas loved Dean, but Dean didn’t want him.

So yes, Cas did a lot of drugs. He told himself he’d stop when things got better. They never did, so he didn’t either.

~ ~ ~

“Please,” Cas would beg. “Tell me how much and I’ll get it.”

“Cas,” Dean would warn, voice hard. He wouldn’t make eye contact. He never does, not when Cas asks him for this. “You know you don’t have enough. I can’t just cut you a deal because we’re friends.”

Words always clog his throat then.

_Please, I love you. I know you can’t love me back. I know you hate the drugs. I know you wish I’d take better care of myself. I know you think I’m pathetic… I know I’m not good enough for you. I **know** … but please. Let me have this. I want, I  **need**  to know what being with you is like. Even if it’s only for a night. Even if the whole time I know your moans and encouragement are paid for and not real. I want it too much to care. Please, Dean…_

The only words that make it out are a resigned, “Yes, Dean.”

He does find out the price. Dean gives him that much. And he’s right, it’s far more than Cas has… but not so much that it’s completely unattainable.

Maybe… maybe…

~ ~ ~

“Castiel.” Roman points to the seat across from him.

Cas obediently takes it. With the desk between them, at least Roman won’t be able to see Cas fidgeting and wringing his hands.

“Mr. Roman,” he says with a polite nod.

“Dick, please.” He motions for his guards to leave them alone. Cas relaxes minutely, but not much. “What can I do for you?”

“You must know why I’m here.” He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to point out that Roman and his mother were friends, that there’s an old family connection there. One that Cas has never liked, that has always made him uncomfortable and that he doesn’t want to use now. If there were anyone else that would hire him…

“On the contrary,” Roman says. “If you’d come to me five years ago when you were graduating high school, it’d make sense. Why you would come now? I’d have thought you’d have figured out your way without my help, despite those offers I’d made. I don’t like being turned down.”

“I know,” Cas agrees, his nerves flaring again. Maybe this was a bad idea.

_Oh no, this is **definitely** a bad idea. That’s not up for dispute. It’s just a question of  **how**  bad…_

Cas swallows thickly and tries “I thought I knew what I was doing, but I don’t. I need help, and I was hoping you would be willing to overlook how foolish I was. A job at the bank—”

“Out of the question,” Roman says flatly. “A nice desk job is what I would’ve given you years ago as a favor to your mother. Now you’re the one asking for a favor, and I’m not feeling so generous.” He leans back in his chair, clasps his hands together, and stares at Cas like he’s looking into his soul. “You want a job, you’ll be a collector.”

“A collector?” That doesn’t sound good.

“When people owe me money, sometimes they don’t like to pay. I have collectors go to talk to them and… persuade them that paying me is in their best interests.”

“Persuade them?” he asks meekly.

Roman smiles. “Feel free to get creative in how you persuade people. Pressure in the right place goes a long way. Whether that’s their body, their family, their home…” Roman shrugs. “Honestly, not a pleasant part of my work, but that’s why I have people like you to take care of that sort of thing. I’ll have Uriel take you on a few runs before we start giving you assignments of your own.”

Cas notices how Roman doesn’t even consider Cas refusing the job offer. Cas also notices that he says and does nothing to indicate he is refusing. This is what Roman’s offering, and after he gives Cas his a good faith payment, Cas knows he can’t say no.

If this is the only path open to him that leads to Dean, then it’s the one he’ll take.

~ ~ ~

Uriel is a terrible man, and he enjoys his terrible work. Cas says and does what he needs to so that he can start on his own. Without this monster of a man breathing down his neck, he can do things his own way.

It takes two unpleasant weeks of shadowing Uriel before Roman deems him ready for a few easy collection assignments.

Uriel makes the job look bloody and violent. From what he hears, it’s that way for the others, too.

Cas easily finds another way to get the job done. He smokes with people, gets them high and relaxed and friendly. They almost always pay then, when it’s a friend encouraging them to do it before things get worse. Because they definitely can get worse.

A few times, when it’s not going the way he wants, he gets them stoned instead. They pass out and then it’s a simple matter of just taking what Roman’s owed. He doesn’t like being a thief, but he’s not sure it’s technically stealing. Besides, it’s better than the alternative.

There are those rare times when things do turn violent. Cas can’t quite help that, but he does his best to minimize the damage. Just enough to make them change their minds. Usually when they see Cas is willing to get his hands dirty, when he lands a few punches or breaks a rib, they give in.

Cas hates those days more than anything, but there’s nothing he can do to avoid it.

At least he has Dean there with him. It’s a small comfort, a pale imitation of the life he’d actually like to build with Dean, but it’s something.

~ ~ ~

Dean loves him. Dean  _loves_  him. Dean loves  _him_.

Cas wonders why he ever did drugs at all, this feels so much better.

~ ~ ~

“You’re doing well, Castiel,” Roman says as he counts the money and then hands Castiel his share. “Better than I thought, especially with your unconventional methods. But I’m a business man, and I can’t argue with results.”

“Thank you.” Cas can’t think of anything else to say. He hates this job and this man, but it pays well and allows him to take care of Dean. He’d endure far worse for that.

It’s as though Roman can read his mind, as though he needs to ruin Cas’ happiness.

“How are things going with your whore?” Roman asks with casual disinterest. He probably  _doesn’t_  care, but Cas is unsurprised that Roman knows. He knows everything about everyone,  _especially_  the people working for him.

Cas’ blood runs cold at the thought. How much  _does_  Roman know about Dean…?

“What?” he squeaks.

“Your whore.” He waves his hand dismissively, like there’s no judgement against Cas for having a whore, but a lot against Dean for his line of work. “That’s why you took this job, right?”

“What?” Cas repeats. His heart is pounding in his ears.

“I can’t say I blame you. He’s a pretty piece of ass. Looks cheap, though. The type you pick up on a filthy street corner and take to an equally filthy motel room. Not my usual, but I can see his appeal. Probably get a good deal on him.”

Like it’s a business deal, what he and Dean have.

“Don’t—” Cas licks his lips and clenches his fists. “Don’t—”

Roman continues on, oblivious to Cas’ discomfort. Or perhaps he simply doesn’t care. “He any good? I wouldn’t mind taking a ride. Getting bored of my own boys. I like to mix it up every now and then. He let people get rough? You can tell him I’ll pay extra for it.”

“He doesn’t need your money,” Cas spits. If he were smart, he would walk away right now.

Roman snorts and shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t taking care of him. I’m sure you are. But Castiel, he’s a whore. It doesn’t matter how much money he has, he’ll always want more. Just like it doesn’t matter how much he likes taking your cock, he’ll always want more. Trust me, I’ve been with enough whores that—”

In all honesty, Cas doesn’t remember what happens. His vision goes red and he blacks out after that. He knows Roman said more, though he’s at a loss what specifically it was. No matter how hard he tries, all he hears are vague sexual insults about Dean. If he remembered Roman actually making an actual threat, he’d feel a lot better about this…

When he comes to, there’s a bloody letter opener in his hand and Roman’s body at his feet.

He does the only thing he can think to do in a situation like this. He takes as much money as he can fit in his pockets, uses his coat to hide the mess, and tries not to be seen as he sneaks out of Roman’s bank…

~ ~ ~

The more Dean listens, the more he wants to cry. His heart breaks for Cas, for all the things he’s had to do and all the terrible thoughts he’s had that made him think he had to. And at the center of it, there’s the gnawing guilt that this is  _his_  fault. If he’d made an exception for Cas years ago, if he’d done a better job of letting Cas know how much he’s loved, Cas never would’ve gotten himself into this mess.

Gotten  _them_  into it. Dean’s not going to abandon him now.

So even though he wants to curl up into a ball and bawl his eyes out, Dean doesn’t. He focuses on the most important thing right now: making sure Cas is okay.

“Did anyone see you?” he asks, voice hoarse.

Cas looks at him with wide eyes. Dean is determined not to cry, but Cas broke a while ago. His eyes are puffy and red, and he sniffles as he tries to calm down.

“I don’t think so.” Cas shakes his head and frowns as he considers. “People saw me there, but they usually ignore me. The banking staff know who to ignore, and the less scrupulous employees don’t pay attention to me either.” He stares at Dean with wide eyes. “They don’t like me. They think I’m weak.”

Dean grabs Cas by the back of the neck and pulls him in. Foreheads resting against each other, Dean waits until Cas will meet his eyes before he speaks. “You are  _not_  weak.”

Cas’ eyes dart away for a second. “The drugs—”

“Not gonna lie, I’m not a fan of the drugs, but they don’t make you weak. I know what you dealt with as a kid, I know how rough it’s been for you since your dad died, and know I know what you’ve done so we can be together. You’re the strongest person I know.”

More tears well in Cas’ eyes, and Dean wipes them away with his thumb.

“ _They_  think you’re weak,” Dean says with confidence he doesn’t quite feel, “and that’s gonna keep you safe.”

“How? If they come for me—”

Dean kisses Cas’ forehead before he stands up and goes back to cleaning up the bathroom. He’s seen enough police shows to know that the cops’ll find the blood, but he’s not worried about the cops.

If the cops get Cas, at least he’ll be safe.

He’s worried about Roman’s men.

Lawrence isn’t a big enough town for Dean not to have heard about Dick Roman. Sure, he owns a bank, but not all of his investments are on the level. He’s shady as fuck, hires goons to do all sorts of shit that he’d hear about and hoped were exaggerated before they got to him. He’s not mob level, but he’s the closest Dean’s ever seen.

Was the closest. Fuck.

If they find out it was Cas…

“He doesn’t keep security cameras in his office does he…?” Dean asks.

“No. There are cameras everywhere at the bank except the top floor where his private offices are. And there’s a back way out from there that’s not under surveillance either. Roman had some… issues with the authorities early in his career, and he doesn’t like to keep any sort of trail that could be used against him.”

Dean heaves a heavy sigh of relief. So people can put Cas at the bank, can probably even put him there around the time of the murder, but they probably wouldn’t suspect him of anything.

Hopefully.

Their choices are basically to go on that hope, or to run away and try to outrun Roman’s men. Dean’s kinda for running away. Cas has enough cash to get them to a place like Argentina or maybe a little place in the mountains, only a small town nearby and a cabin to themselves. But as nice as a life with just Cas would be… Dean’s got family and friends. He and Cas leave, Roman’s men figure out it’s them, and then they take it out on Sam, Bobby, Benny, Charlie, and anyone else they can.

Hope it is, then.

“We’re gonna get you cleaned up and taken care of,” Dean says. “You’re gonna pretend nothing happened. Can you do that?”

Cas’ hands tremble a little, but he nods firmly. “I can.”

“Good. You got any leftover collection assignments?”

“Two. I think.”

“Do them. One today, one tomorrow. Go to the bank and try to meet with Roman. You gotta act surprised if they tell you what happened. Think you can do that?”

“Yes.” It comes out a squeak. Cas coughs and rubs at his mouth before trying again. “Yes. I’ll… Can I smoke? It calms my nerves…”

Dean’s gotten most of the blood off the trenchcoat. The rest of Cas’ clothes will need to be trashed, but that’s no big loss. Dean’ll drive out of the city and burn ‘em somewhere. The trenchcoat would be harder to explain if Cas stopped wearing it. Now that he knows what Cas has been doing, he thinks the bits of blood that still show won’t stand out to Roman’s men.

He hands it to Cas and smiles. “You do whatever you need to, sweetheart. You got this.”

The rest of the day, Dean coaches Cas through it. What he’s gotta do and say, acting out a few scenarios. Cas insists they practice talking to the police, too. Dean indulges him, mostly because it makes Cas feel better about the situation.

That night, Cas puts his trenchcoat back on, kisses Dean at the door, and heads out to work.

Dean watches him go and prays it’s not the last time he’ll ever see Cas.

~ ~ ~

Dean’s had some shitty nights in his life. Hiding in his room from his dad, comforting a sick and scared Sam, going to bed with an empty and aching stomach, hoping a client isn’t going to beat the shit out of him, worrying about if he was going to find out that Cas had OD’d in some back alley…

None of those compared to letting Cas walk out that door. If even  _one_  of Roman’s goons thought Cas was involved…

There’s nothing that can calm him down. He paces. He watches TV. He tries some of Cas’ ambien. Not for a second is he able to forget that he watched the love of his life, as miserable and pathetic as his life is, disappear out that fucking door.

He’s neither surprised nor ashamed to admit it, but Dean bursts into tears when Cas comes back home in the early hours of the morning. He clings to Cas like a lifeline, lets him go long enough to check that he’s okay, then brings him back in for another bone crushing hug.

“How’d it go?” Dean gasps through sobs.

“As expected. No problems with the job, and no one else from the bank tried to contact me. I wanted to go back to the bank and see how things were…” Dean tenses in Cas’ arms; Cas notices, and rushes to add, “But I didn’t go. I didn’t check the news or anything.”

Dean doesn’t want to break the hug—having Cas whole and safe in his arms is something he now realizes he’s taken for granted—and it takes an enormous amount of willpower to give Cas space to breathe.

“I did,” Dean says. “The news only says something’s happened at the bank. They’re not saying what happened, and people online are speculating if it was an attempted robbery or if Roman’s crooked business practices caught up with him. But I think they mean more along the lines of got caught laundering money than is dead.”

Cas goes pale at the reminder of Roman being dead. Dean knows Cas didn’t  _forget_ , but it must still be rough to hear it out loud and to know what part he played in it.

“Roman’s inner circle certainly will have found out by now. They’ll probably spend the night accusing each other, then bring in the rest of us one by one.” Cas practically collapses on the sofa, reaches for a joint, then seems to think better of it. Instead he opens up his arms and beckons Dean over.

As if Dean’s more comfort than the drugs ever were.

_Don’t think about that,_  he berates himself.  _‘Cuz then you’ll start thinking about how you two should’ve gotten together sooner, and how Cas wouldn’t be in this mess and he wouldn’t do drugs and we’d be a much better kind of happy than we were even yesterday._

Dean falls into Cas’ arms and buries his face in his neck. The blood smell is gone, thank fuck, replaced with Cas’ sweat and the musty smell of Cas’ shitty Continental.

They don’t talk after that. There’s nothing to say, nothing meaningful anyway. Being together is a luxury they might not have much longer, and neither wants words to get in the way of that.

~ ~ ~

The second day isn’t much better. Dean forces himself to go in to class and work, if only to keep people from suspecting anything about Cas, but it’s hell on earth. He can’t focus, he’s exhausted, and every little thing makes him jump.

Ellen sends him home early for being too damn twitchy.

“You’re gonna break every liquor bottle I got,” she scolds, though there’s concern underneath the reprimand. “You okay, boy?”

“I’m tired,” Dean admits. “Rough couple days.”

“Too much coffee?” she says knowingly. Dean doesn’t bother to correct her. “You’re gonna wear yourself ragged going on like this. Go home, enjoy that boyfriend of yours, and get some rest. And before you go whining about your missed tips, I’ll give you an extra shift if you want it.”

“Thanks, Ellen.” And he means it.

Cas is already back when he gets to the apartment, and he can’t decide if that’s good news or bad news. Cas stares at his hands, face expressionless and eyes vacant, but when he hears the door click shut he turns to smile weakly at Dean.

“Hello Dean.”

“Cas…” Dean warns. “I’m probably gonna explode if you don’t tell me what’s up—”

“They fired me,” Cas says in a voice filled with awe. “I brought the money I collected in. His secretary looked surprised to see me, asked me to take a seat. I waited over an hour before Uriel and Bartholomew met with me. They didn’t even bother to tell me what happened. They said Roman’s out of the picture, the cops are handling it, and in the chaos of trying to fix things, they’ve had to dismantle most of their ‘collection-based operations.’”

“Wait, what? So they didn’t even say Roman’s dead?”

“No. It’s in the news now, but they’re calling it a suicide.”

“A  _suicide_?” Dean asks incredulously. “Suicides get that bloody!?”

“I get the impression that Roman’s men might have… tampered with the crime scene to give the authorities that impression. And likely bribed the coroner.”

“Why would they do that?”

Cas shrugs. “It’s less messy than a full out police investigation. Who knows what they’d turn up. If it’s a suicide, that’s an open and shut case. The lawyers take over parceling out his assets, they wait for the negative publicity and the media attention to die out, and then they rebuild Roman’s criminal empire under new leadership.”

“… And they seriously don’t think you’re involved?” Dean can’t believe it. There’s too good to be true and then there’s so fucking good that he’s probably hallucinating or having a psychotic break. “For real?”

“I have no idea what they think, but I assume if they truly thought I was involved, or in any way wanted to  _blame_  me for his death, I wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the bank.”

“Holy shit.” Dean’s legs give out. He drops to his knees right next to where Cas is sitting, still not willing to believe everything he’s hearing.

“I know.” The corner of Cas’ mouth twitches up into an almost smile. “I think I’m in the clear.”

There’s a moment where Dean lets himself consider the worst. They’re just fucking around with Cas, waiting for him to make a mistake before they destroy him. That this isn’t the end at all, only the beginning of something so much worse, so bad he can’t even begin to imagine—

With a deep breath, he lets go of the negativity. Yeah, it’s possible all that bad shit might still happen, but they’ve talked this out extensively. Roman’s men aren’t subtle or patient. If they want Cas, for  _any_  reason, they won’t be shy about letting him know.

They did it. They really fucking did it.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Dean says, grinning from ear to ear.

“Me too.” Cas’ smile is as wide as his own. It’s a beautiful smile, the gummy one Dean barely ever gets to see anymore.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Dean growls, all his nerves and excess energy needing an outlet. He needs to  _do_ something, needs to move, to feel something other than intense worry.

Somehow he ends up in Cas’ lap. His hands wrap into Cas’ clothes and his mouth seeks Cas’ over and over again. It’s intoxicating, and even more so because  _they can have this_. They can be together, without Roman or their each other or life in general getting in the way. They figured things out (though maybe they took the longest, most dangerous possible path to getting there), and it’s going to work out.

Tonight, and tomorrow night, and the next.

— fin —

* * *

**Epilogue:**

— Despite seeming to be in the clear, Cas and Dean are on edge for months after that. They get suspicious of people hanging around the apartment building, or really anywhere. Nothing ever comes of it, and slowly they start to relax.

— Cas has a lot of money from his work (and what he stole on that final, fateful day in Roman’s office), plus all of the money Dean put aside. They’re comfortable and can be for a while, but it’s not enough to live off of the rest of their lives. They save as much as they can, use the rest for themselves, Dean’s classes, and Sam. It makes things tight, but it gives them time to figure out the job situation.

— Dean still works his street corner. Cas objects at first, not out of jealousy but rather concern for Dean’s health and safety. Their need isn’t _that_ desperate, surely Dean doesn’t have to. Dean makes it clear that he _doesn’t_ have to, and that’s a good thing. He can take the clients he wants, turn down the ones he doesn’t, and stick to the parts of the job he actually likes. He’s got himself a decent number of regulars who pay well enough, and Cas begrudgingly agrees.

— On the odd day where Cas _does_ get jealous—there’s a hickey on Dean’s neck he didn’t put there, Dean’s not at the apartment for a whole day, or Cas is just needing him more than usual—the sex is good. The cuddles afterward aren’t half bad, either.

— They talk things through. They don’t make assumptions about what the other’s feeling or thinking, they ask and they answer. It starts from them checking in on each other a lot after the Roman incident, but they never really get out of that habit. It’s a good habit, and they make a point of talking to each other (actually _talking_ ) once a day.

— When the dust settles after the internal fighting for Roman’s business throne, a man named Crowley comes out on top. Cas knows him a little, but not so much that he expects this change of power to affect him.

It does.

He gets a call from Crowley, inviting him to the bank. Cas accepts (how can he not?) and sits uncomfortably in the newly redecorated office. He tries not to stare at the spot where he last saw Roman’s body.

To his great surprise, Crowley offers him his old job back. All the issues have been cleared up, and Crowley wants things running the way they were. (Mostly. There are obvious changes—like the security cameras Cas notices in the corner of the room—but there’s still an underlying feel of familiarity.)

Cas declines the offer.

“I’m not sure that’s allowed,” Crowley drawls. “With how much you know, you’d be an asset to the bank. I’m not keen to let such assets wander around, taking their expertise, their _knowledge_ to competitors.”

“Or to the authorities” is implied.

“To be fair, I don’t know anything about how _you_ run this bank,” Cas counters. “I know some things about Roman’s business, but you…” He shrugs.

“I’d still rather have you here—”

“I can work as a teller,” Cas says quickly. “In the bank. Five days a week, I’ll be here. You can… consult me on my expertise, and you’ll have no reason to think I’m talking to your competitors.”

Crowley considers a moment. “Done.”

And just like that, Cas has a regular desk job. With _benefits_.

— Cas cleans up after that. He has to dress halfway decent for work, and because of drug testing they do from time to time (though Crowley pointedly hints that there’ll be fair warning), he has to cut back on the pills. It’s a slow process, more so because he does it on his own instead of seeking professional help, but he does cut down to the occasional valium. The weed stays, though. It’s his one indulgence, and all things considered, he thinks he’s done really well for himself.

Dean’s thrilled and really damn proud.

— Dean finishes school. He becomes an accountant, which he knows isn’t luxurious or anything, but it lets him start doing the books for the Roadhouse and take on a few other small businesses. He occasionally still bartends when Ellen needs him to (and just for the hell of it), but he gives up the prostitution gig for good.

It’s a huge relief. One more burden he’s shaken free of.

— Basically Dean and Cas carve out their own happily ever after with each other, one where they can be who they want and don’t have to answer to anyone but themselves. Cas the bank teller, Dean the accountant, and no one judging them all the time for either.

— I also assume they take a long vacation to a beach once everything’s settled. Crowley’s made it clear he has no interest in what happened to Roman, they have jobs and fucking _vacation_ days… and a ton of leftover cash. They stay in a five store resort for two weeks. There’s the beach, nice restaurants, spa days… and a really nice king size bed they get their money’s worth out of.


End file.
